


Hidden Talents

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Series: Fic Exchanges [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Hot Rod before he becomes Rodimus Prime, M/M, Pre-Transformers: The Movie, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15483621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: It's his first patrol out of Autobot City, and Hot Rod got the prettiest partner he's ever seen. So of course he has to make a good impression on Tracks.





	Hidden Talents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skywinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywinder/gifts).



> Exchange gift fic! Always my favorite thing to do. I was tempted by a lot of the prompts, but I decided to go with the one that seemed like the rarest pair in the end. I had a lot of fun writing it! Hope you enjoy, Skywinder.

Earth was…

Hot Rod had never seen anything like Earth before, and he’d seen plenty out there in the universe. Young as he was, he was traveling with Kup, and if there was anything he’d learned from that, it was that traveling with Kup always meant going somewhere interesting. The challenge was figuring out what kind of interesting it was going to be ahead of time.

There was no sort of world they hadn’t managed to go to, as far as Hot Rod was concerned. He’d seen planets and stations filled to the brim with dozens of species, organic and not. He’d been to undiscovered worlds. He’d seen water moons and desert planetoids scorched to cinders by their slowly dying suns. He’d seen plenty of places with Springer and Arcee that Ultra Magnus would lecture all of them about if he ever found out where they’d been. And sure, they’d gotten into scrapes here and there, out from under the watchful eyes of their guardians, but they’d come out of all of them just fine.

Some of his favorite memories were from those jaunts. The story of that time they’d raced out of a collapsing tunnel on Septria Four still brought a wild and reckless light to Arcee’s optics, and made Springer groan in exasperation whenever Hot Rod brought it up. Hot Rod couldn’t help but mention it every now and again. He’d never felt more alive than the moment they’d finally burst free of that mine shaft.

Earth, though. Earth was magnificent.

The best part about it was that it was always changing. Not degrading, not breaking down, but changing. It was hard to tell inside of the Ark, so Hot Rod spent as little time there as possible. Metroplex and the newly forming Autobot city was much more fascinating, in his opinion. There was always something to do, even for someone like him who didn’t know how to build or weld or—

Well, he could weld. Grapple just didn’t like it when he got overenthusiastic.

But the important part, the part that Hot Rod loved the most, was that he was with his people. No more was he one more alien (and a generally hated one) among a crowd of other aliens. He was an Autobot among Autobots. More importantly, he was an Autobot with a name.

“Hot Rod!”

A name that was seeing a lot of use in the past few days.

Hot Rod skidded to a halt, swinging around the bare pole of a street lamp to draw out his momentum for a little while longer. “What, Kup?” he called out to the teal ‘former. Kup was sitting on the ledge at the edge of the walkway with a few of the older Autobots that Hot Rod hadn’t quite gotten around to memorizing the names of. “I’m not late yet, so you’d better not make me!”

“I’m not going to make you late,” Kup huffed around his cygar. He looked like he wanted to reach out and noogie Hot Rod’s helm, but Hot Rod kept out of his reach. Not that he cared what Kup’s old Autobot buddies thought, but he wasn’t some newspark anymore that was just going to let Kup embarrass him. “But watch your tailpipe out there, ya hear me? Don’t go driving yourself off into any ditches. And don’t give your patrol partner a hard time—what’s ‘is name again?”

“Tracks! And I won’t!” Hot Rod called back, already starting to move again. He waved behind him vaguely in Kup’s direction. “You’ll see me right back here when that patrol’s over, Kup!”

If Kup called something after him, he didn’t hear it. He was already racing through Autobot City, toward the West entrance where he was supposed to meet his partner for patrol.

When he skidded to a stop in front of the doors, exactly on time, his patrol partner was already there.

Gleaming blue and white and red, Tracks stood in the sunlight, his arms crossed, looking for all the world like a statue given life. The red of his faceplate gleamed in the light, but that wasn’t what really caught Hot Rod’s attention, as beautiful as it was. No, it was the embellishments along his chassis and his Autobot badge. The flames blazed along it, a beautiful, vibrant red and yellow. Hot Rod’s spark did something funny in his chassis as his optics lingered on it.

Tracks looked up from examining some invisible imperfection on his armor to look Hot Rod over.

“You’re here.” He sounded so _snooty_ about it, too. Hot Rod could practically hear the “finally” hanging in the middle of that sentence. He was doubly glad now that he’d asked around about his patrol partner the moment he’d seen Tracks’ image on the roster. He’d thought Sideswipe and Smokescreen were exaggerating, but apparently Tracks really _did_ sound like this all the time. At least he still had a chance of making a good impression.

“I’m here!” he said, flashing a grin. “So, you ready to leave?”

Tracks nodded. “I’ll log our planned route with the Ark’s system.” He stepped forward into a transformation. “Ping your departure and let’s go.”

Hot Rod stared. Tracks’s transformation sequence was surprisingly… dynamic. Almost elegant, but it carried a lot of energy with the momentum.

Hot Rod couldn’t help but feel flustered. Between the three of them, he, Arcee and Springer had held many contests to see who could transform the fastest (3.6 seconds was Hot Rod’s current record, but he was almost certain he could do it faster), but they’d never thought much about how the transformation looked. He’d never even thought that a transformation could look like a performance, but Tracks had already blown him out of the water with his.

He nodded and pinged the security system quickly. That he knew how to do, at least—the Autobots’ security director had drilled it into him, and Kup had lectured the three of them until they paid attention to all of it.

“All your sneaking out and shenanigans won’t work out here, you understand me?” he’d warned them, chewing on his cygar as he stared them down. “You sneak out and don’t tell anyone where you’re going here, you don’t just get a lecture from me and Ultra Magnus, you get tossed in the brig. This here’s a military base, not a sparkling center.”

Hot Rod might still have thought about it, except for the enthusiasm behind Springer’s nod and ‘yes, sir!’ It wasn’t surprising—Springer had always been the one of them that wanted to be in the fighting most—but if Springer was going to tattle on them to Kup or Ironhide instead of joining in, then there was no point in sneaking away when the three of them could hang out together instead.

“Let’s go,” Tracks said, as Hot Rod leaped into his own alt mode (3.9, not bad! If you ignored the extra three he’d wasted being surprised by Tracks’ own transformation). “You have your maps, don’t you? We’re taking the southeastern along the ridge.”

“Maps, right.” Hot Rod fumbled for the display in his HUD, then gunned his engine as Tracks started to peel away from the developing Autobot City for the roads that networked to and away from the burgeoning base.

His spark thrilled even as he pushed his engine to keep up with Tracks’ acceleration. He was getting out of the watch of other Autobots for the first time since he had come to Earth. No Kup, no Ultra Magnus, no officers. Just him and the fantastic open roads of Earth and a long patrol ahead.

And Tracks, who was driving at a good clip now, taking the twists and turns and rough patches of the roads with casual finesse. Hot Rod supposed it was because Tracks had been on this patrol plenty of times, but Tracks seemed to take each corner with effortless grace, to dodge every rough spot and pothole in the road. There weren’t too many of those, of course. The Autobots made sure that their routes to and from their bases were all suitable for driving, and that even the lowest-slung alt modes could drive them with ease.

He wasn’t going fast enough that Hot Rod couldn’t keep up, but he was definitely the one following. Hot Rod gunned his engine so he could drive up next to Tracks, who adjusted his course effortlessly.

“Sooo…” Hot Rod started to ask, before realizing he didn’t actually have anything to say. How could he approach Tracks without making a bad impression? Had he done so already without realizing it?

“Is all of Earth this easy to drive on?” he asked finally, because not saying anything would be even worse.

Tracks angled his exterior sensors, disguised in a side mirror, in Hot Rod’s direction. For a moment Hot Rod thought he might end up ignored, and if that might be less awkward than the question he’d just managed.

“That would be far too convenient,” Tracks drawled instead. “No. The humans are occasionally good at making roads, when it suits them, but despite their efforts, their planet is organic and unruly. Where they bother to do it, their roads are exquisite. Where they don’t, your suspension will be aching in five minutes, if you can get clearance at all. No, these are Autobot roads.”

“Really?” Hot Rod examined the road through his sensors. Sure, it was smooth under his tires, but as far as he could tell it looked like all of the roads on this particular stretch of the continent. “You mean, you guys pay the humans or something?”

Tracks’ mirror swiveled toward Hot Rod. “Of course not,” he scoffed. “No, the scientists came up with some equivalent to Cybertronian roads, and Hoist leads a project to repair them every so often.”

“These are like Cybertronian roads?” Hot Rod echoed, surprised. He was paying more attention to the road under his tires now. Now that he thought about it, it did seem really good for driving, but still… “So before the war, this is what they were like?”

That made Tracks go surprisingly quiet, for long enough that Hot Rod was afraid he’d said the wrong thing. He was about to start chattering about something, anything else, just to break the silence, when Tracks finally spoke up again.

“On a less grand scale,” he said slowly, “yes. In material, if not in surroundings. You haven’t driven on Cybertron?”

Hot Rod’s plating began to raise defensively. “I’ve been there!” he said quickly. “A couple times. But energon was tight and everything was kind of. Broken.”

Another long pause. Then: “I see,” said Tracks, rather lowly. And then he fell silent again.

This time, it dragged on even longer, until Hot Rod was beginning to think that he really had made a mistake. They lasted twenty minutes of silence before he couldn’t take it anymore. If they kept on like this, Hot Rod was going to drive off into the desert and go crazy.

“Hey!” he said, louder than was strictly necessary. “I’ll race you to the top of that ridge!”

Tracks sounded startled, when he responded. “You’ll what?” The sneering was still there, but it sounded like it was just Tracks’ voice.

“Race you!” Hot Rod revved his engine, but didn’t pull in front—not just yet. He wasn’t about to make it an unfair race. “We have these good roads to drive on, so let’s drive!”

“But—“ Tracks started to say, but Hot Rod interrupted him with a waggle and an enthusiastic shout.

“In three, two, one—!”

When he gunned his engine and took off, there was a moment where he was afraid he would be charging ahead like a fool. Then he heard Tracks sputtering in protest behind him, even as his engine roared, and Hot Rod felt a thrill of glee as Tracks did his best to catch up.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you!” he called back, laughing at the indignant huff that earned in response. “Come on, I even counted down!”

“And you still won’t win,” said Tracks’ voice, syrupy and nasal, over the roar of his engine as he pulled up even with Hot Rod. It was enough to make Hot Rod swerve in surprise—he knew Tracks’ alt mode was fast and sleek, had been thinking about this kind of race from the moment he’d seen him, but he hadn’t expected that much acceleration. He had no idea where the other ‘former could be getting that much energy from.

It was like lightning through his lines. “We’ll see about that!” he laughed.

They traded the lead back and forth as they approached the bluff, never pulling fully away from one another as they fought with bursts of speed. There was no jockeying, no aiming to shove each other off the road—this was still a patrol after all, and crashing wouldn’t end well for either of them. It wasn’t anything like racing with Arcee or Springer, which turned into a good-natured brawl of elbows and tripping as often as not. Hot Rod couldn’t even begin to imagine scratching the gleaming expanse of Tracks’ finish.

The road began to twist into turns as the two of them began to climb, the upwards angle growing in increments. The top was just ahead, and Tracks had the lead, had edged around to grab the favorable edge of the curve, and was grabbing every inch of speed he could out of it.

“It looks like we’ve seen after all!” Tracks called, and as smug as he sounded, there was a real thrill of excitement in his voice.

They were on the final turn. Hot Rod looked at the expanse of road, running calculations, and made a split-second decision.

“Don’t count me out yet!”

With a revv of his engine and a flashy little twist of his bumper, Hot Rod skidded into a turn, all the better to make the fire spouting from his spoiler flash and arc in the air. The road seemed to work with him as he arced into a beautiful drift.

Earth really was the best.

He skidded to a stop onto the overlook at the edge of the road, whirling into a transformation that kicked up dust but brought him to a faster halt. His legs ached a little, but it was worth it for the way his spark was pounding, and the grin he could feel splitting his face. “How’s that?” he crowed.

Tracks slid to a halt in front of him, leaving his own tire marks on the road, before he transformed, staring at Hot Rod with a severe expression. It didn’t look nearly as impressed as he’d been hoping, and he wondered for a moment if Tracks might actually be a sore loser. Setting him up to lose a race on their first patrol… that wasn’t the best way to make a good first impression, was it? He felt his grin slowly slipping.

“What,” Tracks said, optic ridge raised, “was that?”

“Oh. Uh, that’s… my exhaust pipes,” Hot Rod said, holding up his arms to show the pipes leading off their sides, then shuffling his pedes. “I can shoot fire off of them. In this form it’s a pretty good weapon in a pinch, but when I’m driving it mostly just looks impressive, and gives me a bit of a boost.”

Tracks crossed his arms over his chassis in front of his badge. “I see. That sort of modification isn’t legal on the human cars around here. We Autobots aren’t mere cars, of course, but aside from emergencies we try to abide by the local human laws. If I were you, I would avoid using them.”

“Oh.” Hot Rod wilted further, nodding and shuffling his pedes. “I didn’t realize. I’ll leave ‘em alone…”

“Good.” Tracks nodded decisively, then the corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. “I’d like to win _some_ race against you.”

Hot Rod was left staring in surprise as Tracks folded himself back down into his alt-mode again. “Good. Now that you’ve celebrated your victory, let’s get on with this patrol, shall we?”

Hot Rod stumbled his way back into his alt-mode, nodding quickly. “R-right!” he stammered, pulling out to follow Tracks as the older Autobot took the lead. “And I only had to pull that trick because you were beating me—you’re really good at racing!”

“I should hope so,” Tracks said, a hint of warmth to his voice. “A car like me, I have to live up to the reputation of my frametype, don’t I?”

“I’d race you any time,” Hot Rod said without thinking, then cut off his vocalizer in embarrassment as he felt the sensor sweep Tracks made in his direction.

“Then we’ll make a habit of it,” he said. “There’s a course through the city. I’ll show you sometime.”

Hot Rod felt like his spark was about to burst. Tracks was being… well, nice. Friendly. Had he managed to leave a good impression after all? He sure hoped so. The more time he spent with this flashy ‘former, the more he wanted to.

“Great! It’s been ages since I’ve been to a real track,” he said.

“Spend any time in Autobot City, and that will change,” Tracks told him as they pulled away from the overlook and continued on their patrol.

The rest of the trip wasn’t always spent talking, but it was an easier silence, and when they occasionally broke into chatter, it was comfortable. The weather was clear, the temperature pleasant, and although they kicked up dust on the road, it wasn’t enough to coat them entirely.

Earth, Hot Rod was deciding, was maybe the best place he’d ever been. He couldn’t wait to tell Arcee and Springer about Tracks—it didn’t even matter if nothing happened on this particular patrol. This was better than fighting off Decepticons.

The sun was hanging low in the sky like a great medallion when they finally rounded the next stretch of road to finally make their way back. Most of a local day had been spent out on the roads, and Hot Rod could feel the ache of a long drive settling into his axles. His tanks were low, though not empty, and he was looking forward to getting back, so he could take a cube.

They’d made their way around back of the entrance they’d left the city from, where the cliffs came up closer to the city and descended in a series of switchbacks almost entirely up to the entrance. Hot Rod was sure there was some strategic reason for that, but he didn’t know it, so instead he groaned.

“Ugh, why’d they save the slowest part for last?”

“To keep restless rookies from driving off the edge of a cliff,” Tracks said, amused and drawling.

“As if I’d do that!” Hot Rod insisted, flickering his headlights in indignation. “I’m a better driver than that.”

“Well, then,” Tracks said, and there was a hint of something heady to his voice, deeper than amusement, that Hot Rod couldn’t quite place. “Shall we have a rematch?”

“You’re on!” Hot Rod agreed immediately, flicking his mirror in Tracks’ direction and revving his engine excitedly. “And this time I’ll win fair and square.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tracks hummed. “Well, then. In three, two one!”

The moment Tracks finished the countdown, Hot Rod sprang forward, determined to get every ounce of advantage he could. He was going to prove he wasn’t just some rookie! Just because he could go fast didn’t mean that he wasn’t also a good driver, and he’d show that off for Tracks right here and now.

Only, Tracks was apparently determined to do the same. He’d started off onto the first stretch of road before the switchbacks with just as much speed as Hot Rod—faster, even, he was still accelerating, even when Hot Rod’s recklessness said it was too much, too fast, he was going to crash into the edge—

“Tracks!“ he shouted, revving his engine, worry beginning to creep into his spark as he watched the other ‘former’s course. Had his tires slipped? Sure, he wanted to win, but not that much, right? Only he _still_ wasn't slowing, the edge was _right there_. “Watch—“

There was a _pop_ as Tracks hopped into the air. Not flung there, not twisting from a crash. It was like he’d bounced himself up—he was transforming, Hot Rod realized, his back bumper shifting, white slats peeling off from his undercarriage to form wings, thrusters appearing from where his back bumper had been.

Hot Rod was so surprised that he nearly slid into the barrier himself. “Tracks, wh—“ He heard Tracks’ laughter, as the other ‘former _flew_ off, drifting with the ease of a jetformer down toward the base of the cliff.

“That’s cheating!” He called, indignantly, and gunned his engine. He was never going to win now, but he wasn’t about to be shown up by a triple-changer!

By the time he’d come off of the final stretch of road, Tracks was standing in front of the open entrance to Autobot City, his hands braced on his hips and an unrepentant smile on his faceplates. “Six minutes and ten seconds,” he drawled, looking over Hot Rod as he pulled up and transformed. “Not bad, for second place.”

Hot Rod had no idea what expression was on his face. “So throwing flames out of my spoiler’s illegal, but flying isn’t?” He demanded, but then he shook his head and looked Tracks over. “That was amazing! You just! Went off the edge! I’ve never seen an alt mode like yours! Is that a human thing, or just you?”

“Just me.” Tracks, if anything, sounded even more smug as he tilted his helm toward Hot Rod. “Fair’s fair. You got your hidden trick out of the way, so I showed off mine.” He turned toward the city, beckoning Hot Rod along. “Now, let’s report in and finish off this patrol. I’m absolutely covered in dust, it’s appalling.”

 “Wait!” Hot Rod stepped forward, reaching out to take Tracks’ hand. His spark was in his throat, but when Tracks looked back at him, surprise etched into his features, he mustered a smile and hid his trepidation. “So you don’t take off ahead of me again,” he said.

“You’re spunky, aren’t you.” Tracks looked down at their hands, then back up at Hot Rod’s face. There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he looked up again. “Lucky for you,” Hot Rod could see a hint of a grin on his lips, before he smoothed his face out again, but it was enough to make his spark thrill, “I like that.”

 


End file.
